


Decline Dahlia, Ambrosia Too

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Coughing, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, M/M, Vomiting, hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 14:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15003173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: Hermann has known Newton for a very long time, long enough to find little things about him that are annoying, riveting, perhaps even lovable. Even if he won't admit it. Even if that means he starts coughing up flowers.





	Decline Dahlia, Ambrosia Too

**Author's Note:**

> Hanahaki disease is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from unrequited love. Yes, this can be cured with an operation that will cut out the flowers (and the love of the person you are feeling for) or you apparently choke and die on flowers. OR! The person you love loves you back! And guess what? Hermann is...a very stubborn man. Very stubborn. Stop being so stubborn.

Hermann rubbed his chest, pressing his heel into the coarse wool of his vest. It had been unbearably cold at the Russian Shatterdome, but he had quite hoped that transferring to the Hong Kong facility would have been mildly better. Not when it was the rainy season, it seemed. He had been trying very hard to avoid a cold, but his nerves were worn thin as they attempted to calculate when the next breach might occur. That, and the gentleman he was sharing a lab with was doubling down on his efforts to make poor Dr. Gottlieb lose his bloody mind.

“Hey, Herms!”

“Newton,” Hermann grumbled, the name rumbling in his chest. He coughed into his hand and flattened his palm out on his chest again when he turned to face his lab partner. “Yes? What can I—”

“You okay?” Newton asked, cutting him off. The man was already crossing the distinct line painted down the middle of their lab, hopping on one foot and then the other, like he was preforming a short jig. “You look a little, uh, green around the gills. You—”

“Yes, I’m quite alright,” Hermann answered stiffly, straightening himself. Newton smiled, mirroring the stance, squaring his shoulders. Of course, Hermann had a few inches on him. It was not difficult to look down his nose at the man. “Was there something you needed?”

“Yeah! Yes. Alright, so, I’ve been redoing the sequencing on 121245, right? That liver sample we got off Scissure from Sydney, right? Which is fucking stupid, because we nuked him, so I know it’s not going to….”

Newton kept talking. Animatedly, at that. He waved his arms, pointing at imaginary figures and pulling from what seemed to be a limitless well of energy and history of what they had discovered thus far on the kaiju that were invading their world. Hermann did not even nod, blinking occasionally as he rubbed at the growing pain in his chest. The man could talk for hours, if he wanted. And while pages and pages of letters was something that Hermann had greatly looked forward to and devoured with vicious curiosity—one might even call it desire if they cut a sample of Hermann’s internal musings and put it under a microscope—he found that the man who had shared correspondence with him for _years_ could carry on much faster than Hermann’s patience could withstand.

And Hermann had always thought himself a patient man. Oh, but he learned something new every day, didn’t he?

“…so I was thinking, right, given the gamma radiation, if we—”

“Yes, fine,” Hermann interjected, following Newton’s reasoning. “I know, but we’ve already accommodated for—”

“No, I know, I know, what I’m _saying_ is—”

“What you’re _saying_ , Newton, is that you don’t trust my calculations following the last breach. Am I correct?”

“Well, hold up, man. Hold up. That’s not…”

Hermann leaned heavily on his cane, watching Newton squirm under his scrutiny.

“That’s not what I’m _saying_ ,” he continued, again dancing left and right on the balls of his feet. Damnably distracting to watch him sway, watch him move, watch him swipe his arms in wide swaths with the annoying flashes of color across his forearms. “What I’m saying is…like, _maybe_ we should…."

“You’re telling me to erase a month’s work because of a theory you have on—”

“Not a month! I’m not telling you to erase anything! I’m just saying!”

Newton reached out and almost touched Hermann’s arm, but must have seen his own hand covered in the slimy, somewhat viscous coating from cutting into his samples. He quickly pulled his hand back before he accidentally soiled Hermann’s coat. Another odd little tremor in Hermann’s chest, which he dug his palm into harder.

“No, man, I’m saying. I’m saying we should, just…it’s just a theory.”

“And you want me to redo my predictions for the next opening based on said theory.”

“If you want?” Newton asked, his face pinched up to the side in a hopeful, laughable grimace.

Hermann started to cough again, harder than before. He took out his handkerchief and spun away, shaking Newton’s hovering shadow from his own.

“Whoa, dude, are you okay?”

Of course he was okay. He was fine. A cough was merely an irritation, even if it was getting harder and harder to breathe. He was used to being sick and he did not need Newton’s concern clouding him. Pity was a terrible thing.

“I’ll…” Hermann choked out another sound, feeling something caught in the back of his throat. He tried to clear it, swallowing painfully. “I’ll look after lunch,” he wheezed, holding his handkerchief over his mouth and limping quickly from the lab.

“I can take you down to medical, dude, it’s not—”

“I’m _fine_!” Hermann growled, another flutter in his chest when he heard Newton quickly peeling off his gloves. The poor bastard was truly set to help him. But, no. No. Hermann was at the edge of the lab and already on his way to his cabin to see if he had any remedies in his dwindling supply of medications. Damn the war for it’s taxation on both mind and body, but, more than that, on his requisition supplies.

Another cough, harder this time, producing something aromatic. He spat undignified into his hand and was _horrified_ at first to see the flash of red, assuming blood. There was a soapy taste on his tongue and he realized quickly that the red was in fact a tubular petal, wet and lightly crushed by his wind pipe. Hermann’s hands trembled as he picked the delicate thing off his handkerchief, holding it up to the light.

“Whu-whuh…what is…?”

The world went dark at the edges, tinged with vibrations and what could almost be mistaken for leaves, though of course that was but panicked imagination rearing its ugly head. Perhaps all of this was a fever dream. He had been feeling under the weather. He could rationalize that as such. Hermann crumpled the petal in his fist. It was far easier to excuse himself that he was merely making this up when he could not see the evidence in front of him. Easier still when he backed up to his bed and collapsed on it, hunched over his kneecaps.

“Control yourself,” he muttered bitterly, thinking of how he was to return to the lab and begin working on his calculations again based on Newton’s likely correct assumptions. Bastard. Of course he would meddle in and of course Hermann should set aside his pride a moment, but Newton.

Newton, of all people.

That man. How he got under his skin. How he broke down barriers with his chattering. How he so brazenly shoved his way across the line in their lab and invaded his space and cared so tenderly, in his way, through his mania. Yes, with music, and yes, with the tattoos, and yes with the nicknames, but also how he was mindful not to touch him when he had his messy gloves on or how he would walk with him to the canteen for their meals or how he sometimes kept them awake to watch old monster movies and made popcorn and shared a bowl between them, casually nudging his knee onto Hermann’s lap or tossing an arm around his shoulder without thinking. How he did not see Hermann as too weak to be, to exist, and only made accommodations with the simplest gesture, an afterthought, a kindness. How he kicked a rolling chair to Hermann’s desk when he was close to collapsing. How he pushed Hermann to hone his research, with jibes and jeers but with patience and understanding too. God damn him, yes, he cared. Or Hermann hoped he….

Hermann coughed again, spitting more dahlia petals into his hand. He groaned and stretched out onto his mattress, closing his eyes and patting his chest above his heart.

“Oh, you bastard,” he muttered weakly, rolling his cheek into his pillow.

\---

Hermann let the hour slip by. He wasn’t sure when he had dozed off, waking with a short snort that rattled uncomfortably through his nasal passage. He could have slept for longer, of course. Wanted to, in fact, but he rubbed his eyes and forced himself up. He promised—without saying as such—that he would return to the lab and work with Newton again. It was vital work. There were few of them left, funding cut to ribbons, forces sent to that ridiculous wall effort.

It was easier to pretend, of course. Hermann kept his handkerchief close at hand and whenever he felt the terrible things start to come up, he spat them out quickly, turning away so Newton never saw. But that did not stop the man from asking about it. And he was quicker to put a gentle hand on Hermann’s shoulder, trying to convince him to go to the medical bay and get himself checked out.

“Like, I’m not telling you what to do and I _know_ this is really backwards for us, dude,” Newton said with a laugh, going on now to the second week of the infernal petals coming up. “What with you dragging my sorry ass back to Kennwise.”

“Dr. Kenn—”

“Whatever,” Newton said, cutting him off with a sharp snap.

Newton and Dr. Elijah Kennwise had not gotten off on the right foot and the two were often at each other’s throats, much like Hermann and Newton. But while their arguments were loud, heated, passionate things, Hermann got the distinct impression that Newton simply loathed Kennwise and assumed him to be a bit of a simpleton. The man was a medical professional. It was still potentially true.

“I’m just saying,” Newton said, stretching his words out to hide the painful worry threaded through each syllable. Hermann watched him, his chest seizing, and he coughed harder, more violently than he had in the past week. “Dude! Jesus, Hermann, you gotta—”

Hermann stumbled away, trying to get to the door, but he was turned around and found himself blindly falling towards the small “recreational” space they had tucked in the corner of the lab. He grabbed a hold of the couch, spitting blooms of dahlia out through his fingers, practically vomiting them up.

“Hermann! Holy shit!” Newton had seen the red too, likely assuming blood like Hermann had the first time. He rushed over to grab him before Hermann collapsed to the floor. “Hermann? Jesus Christ, okay, we are going to medical right now, dude. Right _now_!”

“N-N….” Hermann grabbed Newton’s arm painfully, sinking onto the couch as he struggled to breathe. “N-No.”

“Yeah, I know. Hold on, okay, I’m gonna get somebody.” Newton was wiping petals off Hermann’s chin, patting his chest. It took a moment for Hermann to realized he was undoing the buttons of his shirt, his hands skating delicately over newly exposed skin. “You gotta breathe. You…what the fuck is this?” Hermann assumed he was looking at his chest, his thin, pasty, unattractive chest and he wanted to weep. Why didn’t he just leave? Go and get someone and then Hermann could just suffer alone, please. Please. Another cough, another fountain of petals. “Jesus, Herms. Oh my god, dude, what the….”

“Newt.” Hermann held Newton’s arm hard enough to leave bruises on the poor man’s skin. He wondered idly to himself, despite the terrible tearing in his lungs and swirling atmosphere, if the bruising would show under the tattoos and if he might survive this long enough to see it. The thought alone made him cough again, loosening his grip, muttering out a ragged, “Ohhh.”

“Hey. Hey hey hey hey,” Newton said quickly, bracing Hermann’s face and checking his pulse. “Hey. Fuck you, Herms. You can’t…you aren’t allowed to die, dude.”

Hermann laughed. He certainly hadn’t hoped for such a thing either, but it was easier, perhaps. Choked out on some ridiculous flower. He could accept such a passing with Newton there for the very plain pleasure that he was at least holding him and taking care of him again. Selfish. Terrible. Painful as it dug into his lungs. He groaned again, wondering how in the world a plant from Mexico had found root in his body. But did that matter?

“Herms? Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to go get Kennwise. Or. Just. Fuck!”

Newton was scrambling over him now, wiping his face with jittering fingers. Hermann forced his eyes open to see that Newton was crying. That was, by far, an easier pain to understand. Guilt. Heartbreak. And while he did not enjoy it in the slightest, he thought the remedy was easier. Hermann reached up and gently cupped Newton’s face.

“Newt,” he said again.

Despite the fact that he was absolutely certain the man despised him, pitied him, tolerated him for some unfathomable reason, cared for him, yes, but for reasons he couldn’t connect, Newton quickly closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against Hermann’s. If he had air left, he would have gasped. He kept his eyes open, shocked by the contact. There was a ringing in his ears or a rushing of blood or a dizzying, alarming _something_ , when Newton kissed him. Kissed him. Kissed him, dear God! It was brilliant. It was firm. It was less than that as Hermann’s grip loosened and he felt so very tired and so very relieved and so very dark.

“Hermann? Goddamni—”

\---

Hermann woke and understood very quickly that this was certainly not his bunk. He groaned, his voice rough from sleep, exertion, and perhaps the tearing of his esophagus from throwing up bloody flowers. Flowers of all things! He patted his chest weakly, looking around for something to cover himself with. He very much did not like the fact that his shirts and vest were gone and that he was left there in the medical bay, exposed for all the world to see. At least they left his trousers and shoes on, the heathens. And he had a blanket draped over him, which he tugged up, his hand freezing when he noticed the bizarre lines crossing over his chest. Almost a faint outline of scarring over each of his lungs.

“What in….”

“Hey,” someone said softly, earnestly as they pushed into his peripheral. Hermann jerked back, surprised to feel their hand in his own so quickly. Newton smiled, red-eyed and puffy cheeked, knocking his ridiculously thick glasses askew when he wiped away at the corner of his eyes. “Welcome back. You need anything?”

“Wh…wh…?” Hermann asked weakly.

Oh, but it was unpleasant to talk. He looked around again, blinking as he focused on the room. Hardly a room. A cot with a curtain drawn around it, more like. And an array of scans and medical devices hooked up to him. Hermann had to wonder what supplies they were wasting on this poor, miserable scientist that could be saved for the Jaeger pilots. His eyes ticked around the room until they landed on a vase beside him. A reedy ragweed tied together with a piece of twine sat in the vase, rows of pale yellow flowers, not quite blooming. Newton followed his gaze and laughed, pointing a thumb at them.

“Oh, right. Mako helped me get some ragweed. Better known as ambrosia. How sweet is that, right? Thought it might, uh, might make the place more inviting. We can totally take them back to the lab when you’re outta here.”

Newton laughed and kissed Hermann’s knuckles. A very silly gesture, a very kind thing to do. Hermann expected something to riot in his lungs again, but he only felt himself melt back into the mattress, warm and happy.

“You scared the shit outta me, man,” Newton said, smiling when he saw Hermann do the same. “I thought you were going to die.”

“Mm…me…nn.”

Hermann, while not nearly a verbose as Newton, did not enjoy how difficult it was to talk.

“Yeah, I expect not.” Newton brushed back Hermann’s hair with a peculiar look on his face. He locked eyes with him, a small frown turning his lips down. Hermann very much wanted to brush them back up into a smile. “Don’t do that again.”

Hermann simply shook his head.

“I love you, you idiot.”

God, just to hear it made Hermann sigh, his eyes fluttering despite himself, almost brimming instantly. Newton took a deep breathe and held it a moment before Hermann realized why he might be doing so. So Hermann mouthed _I love you too_. And Newton breathed out, relaxing instantly.

“Good. God, just. If you’re gonna go ahead and choke on flowers, uh. Don’t. Because it’s really rude to me and just, you’re not allowed. Okay? Who the hell am I supposed to blast my music to every Thursday? Yeah, and Friday. Yeah, okay, Sunday through Wednesday too, stop interrupting me, man. And Kennwise? Fuck that guy. And you think he’s going to rewatch AVP with me? Don’t shake your head, man, you loved that one. Yes you did! Yes you did, shut up!”

There were only so many eye rolls and rusty replies he could muster before Hermann simply grabbed Newton’s neck and pulled him down to kiss him. To shut him up, absolutely. Definitely. Also, perhaps, to prove he loved him. To prove he was loved back and stomp out any trace of the flowers that had infected his lungs and pushed him to confront this man. Newton pushed his fingers into Hermann’s hair, returning every touch and breath measure for measure. Hermann wondered when was the soonest he could get out of this bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Dahlia is associated with unrequited love and Ambrosia is associated with mutual love. So, there you go. Flowers up in this business. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
